


Hum 'What If?'

by slrandomperson



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Hospital, It's cute but kinda fucked up, Just like in a different way than my last fic, M/M, Suicide Attempt, good ending I promise, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 02:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15764973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slrandomperson/pseuds/slrandomperson
Summary: Pete regretted it almost immediately.He suddenly realized that he did not want to die, he did not want to leave, he did not want to cause any panic. He just wanted to get better.He called the only person that could make that happen. They did not pick up.





	Hum 'What If?'

**Author's Note:**

> I recently received a DM on Tumblr asking why I never talk about Jon and Spencer in my fics. The whole thing with Spencer is mostly that I just don't really have a reason to include another character (that will be changing shortly...) but I'll try to write him in ;)
> 
> As for Jon, I mean...This is weird to explain but, I know him. Like irl. Our families have mutual friends and I met him at a wedding once, and I went to the same high school as him (he graduated a bit before I went there)...I just feel weird including him. So I hope that answers all your questions. 
> 
> Catch me on Tumblr at sophie-m-leo and please enjoy <3
> 
> TW// look at tags

Pete was scared. He regretted this immediately. He regretted everything.

He didn't want to die.

The effects were already picking up, and Pete shook his head violently to make the sleepiness go away. His palms were sweaty and he thought maybe his hair was sweating a bit too, but that could have just been the roof of the car crying on him. He smashed his finger into a button on the door, rolling the window down inch by inch and then back up again. He didn't want to die, but he was already halfway there.

Glancing down at the little piece of paper now crushed in his shaking fist, Pete cracked a kind-of insane smile. It was the shittiest suicide note he had ever written (there had been practices), but much like every other shitty piece of work he had ever put together, he liked it nonetheless.

Uncrumpling said note, Pete stared down at the huge paper. Well, it wasn't that big, it's just that the words didn't take up much of the paper and he had kind of started to lose his recognition of space and distance. He read the note again and started laughing. It was so stupid.

"'You're the Dean Moriarty to my Sal Paradise. I love you and you know it. You've always known it, and I'll always love you,'" he read in a high-pitched voice, drowning out the sound of Hallelujah playing softly on the radio. He was mocking himself at this point. So this was dying.

He picked up the nearly empty bottle of Ativan. Gazing out the window at the Best Buy at the end of the empty parking lot, he vaguely wondered why nobody had come to his car yet. He rapped his fist on the window. "Hello? Hey, waiter! I'm waiting for my fuckin' refill! Hello?"

Pete's vision blurred briefly and he just said, "Whoa," like he was stoned. He chuckled to himself at the thought of getting high; it would be such a strange juxtaposition to what he was feeling now.

But then he gasped. He slowly began to feel his insides lock up as his heart beat faster, kicking into overdrive. He sucked in as much air as he could with each breath, and suddenly he remembered how much he didn't want to die.

Ginger hair. Pale skin. Starry eyes. Radiant smile.

Pete grasped the thought and used it to rip himself from manic insanity like it was a foothold on a rock wall. He gripped the note in his hand, paper crumpling up once again. Reaching into his pocket, he yanked his phone free from denim jeans.

The first number he thought to dial was not 911. It was Patrick.

In the few seconds the phone was ringing, Pete already formed a whole speech to present once Patrick picked up. It would be all dramatic and he would say, _Listen, 'Trick. I don't want to bother you, but you have to listen to me, okay? Time is running away from me. I'm at Best Buy. Call the guys and tell them to send help. But first I want you to know that I was ready to let it all go, I was ready to die, and the only thing I could think of that was worth writing a note for was you. You're the Dean to my Sal, man. You're my best friend, and I don't ever want to lose you. You're everything. I love you. I'm going to live for you._

Yeah, that was good. That was really good. It wasn't as long or obvious of a love confession that Pete had imagined the first time he told Patrick how he felt would be, but it would suffice. And, of course, when Patrick picked up, he'd have more time and he'd probably improvise anyway.

 _Ring. Ring. Click_. "Hey, this is Patrick." Pete opened his mouth, butterflies humming in his stomach. Then, "Leave a message or whatever."

Another click. "At the tone, please record your message. When you finish recording you may—"

 _Click_. Pete hung up, bottom lid lined with tears. He bit his lip to keep from screaming and dropped his phone in the cupholder. He sobbed into his tongue and rocked back and forth, hands rubbing eyes to fight the sleep. "Shit," he whined.

Picking up the phone again, Pete dialed the only other number he could remember. This one picked up after only a few rings.

In a croaky, strangled voice, he managed to say, "Mom, help. Please."

He only had time to give her his location before he finally passed out.

▾▾▾▾▾▾

Pete blinked awake and his eyelids turned to dust as he opened them, at least, that's what it felt like. There were sirens and then he realized he was inside of a vehicle, and he was laying down and everything was white.

"You're gonna' be okay," he heard his mom's voice say. He passed out again.

Pete wasn't aware that you could dream while you were unconscious, but here he was. It started out normal, just him and the guys on the bus. Patrick was walking over to sit next to Pete on the couch, but when he did sit, he was pressed right up against him. Pete just sipped a cup of coffee as Patrick snuggled up next to him.

"Baby, I miss you," Patrick said, tugging on Pete's arm. "Come back to me."

"I'm right here," Pete said, fondly gazing down into blue eyes.

Patrick pouted, showing off his lush, pink lips. "So far away," he whined, expression lifting back into a grin as he traced delicate fingers up and down the side of Pete's face. "I miss you. Please come back to me." It sounded sadder now, even though Patrick was still smiling.

"I'm always gonna' be right here."

Half-lidded eyes moved from Pete's forehead all the way down to his lips, and then up too his eyes again. He reached a hand up to gently cup the side of Pete's face, softly smiling as he leaned unbearably close. "Come back to me," he whispered, and just as their lips were about to join—

Gasp for air, breathe, just breathe, there's beeping oh god lots of beeping bright white light _awake_.

Pete blinked, chest heaving as he gasped, eyes flickering around nervously. It took him a second to take in his surroundings. His mother was smiling at him from the chair beside the hospital bed, Marcus, Andy and Joe were in a somber line by the wall (can lines be somber?), and...

In the corner, curled up into a ball on the floor, was Patrick. His pretty pale skin was flushed slightly pink, and he picked at his nails as he hid his face behind his knees. His shoulders jerked every few seconds. It was almost as if he was crying.

"Patrick?" he breathed. His voice sounded strained. His mother looked confused.

"Peter, you're awake. Oh god, you're awake!" She pulled her son into a tight hug, and he didn't respond.

Pete just stared at Patrick over his mother's shoulder. He felt nothing inside, just sick. Just _guilt_. Patrick remained hunched over in the corner.

"Man, we were so worried about you. What...What happened?" Andy asked quietly.

He ignored the question and looked around the room. There were machines on one side of the bed, and the needle in his arm was connected to a little tube that attached to one of the said machines. Pete let his eyes wander to the other side of the room, but as they passed over the blindingly bright white lights on the ceiling, he squinted and shrank back, pulling out of his mother's arms.

Dale looked hurt, but she smiled anyway. Her eyes suggested nothing but sadness and a guilt similar to Pete's, but completely different all at the same time. "What happened, honey?"

Pete just stared blankly at the wall. Whatever medication they had him on was fucking up his emotions. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't say—" She was interrupted by a choked sob. "Don't say you're sorry. Don't be sorry. _I'm_ sorry."

"Why? You picked up the phone."

Patrick's head lifted from behind his knees. His eyes were red behind his glasses and his skin was splotchy. His mouth opened and closed like a fish as he seemed to search for something to say.

"Not to say that you'd have done anything wrong if you didn't," Pete said quickly, trying to make sure Patrick knew he wasn't mad. His phone was probably off or he was busy or something. Pete understood. "I just mean...I mean you helped me. You didn't do anything wrong, Ma."

His mother smiled as a sob escaped her mouth once again, and she threw her arms around Pete. This time, he patted her back comfortingly. "I love you, Pete."

"Love you too, Ma."

"What happened?" Joe asked for the third time. He was uncharacteristically quiet.

Pete fiddled with his fingers. "I'm sure they told you."

"But  _why_?"

He stared up at Joe. "Because I didn't want to be alive anymore."

Taking the hint that Pete wasn't keen on explaining himself, Joe backed off. Marcus just patted his shoulder. They were all abnormally quiet. Pete hated it.

"Patrick," he said again. The strawberry blond was now leaning against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest.

Patrick squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to stop himself from crying. He shook his head as if to say _I don't want to speak right now._

"Can I talk to you? Alone?" Pete tried, glancing at the other four people in the room. Joe and Marcus immediately went for the door, but Andy and Dale were much more hesitant.

"Baby, I don't think that's such a good—"

Pete cut his mom off. "It's important." He stared at her blankly.

Dale swallowed and followed the boys out of the room, looking back nervously before closing the door. Then it was just him and Patrick.

Everything was quiet for a minute. Pete just stared at Patrick, his eyes closed and his head tilted back, exposing that pale neck just totally made for bruising. Finally, Patrick opened his eyes and dropped his gaze to look at Pete, who continued staring.

"I'm sorry," Patrick whispered. "I should have had my phone with me. I'm so sorry."

Pete just kept staring at him. "Come here," he said slowly, as if Patrick would shatter if he said it any faster.

Patrick shakily stood up, gripping the wall for support. His weak knees trembled, probably from a mix of fear and exhaustion. Padding over to the beside, Patrick pushed up his glasses and waited expectantly.

Reaching out, Pete took Patrick's arm and tugged him closer, moving aside to make room for him on the bed. "Lay with me."

Patrick complied, climbing underneath the blankets. Pete wanted to pull him in close, wanted to wrap his arms around the kid and cry. But he didn't. Instead, they just laid there for another few minutes in silence.

Patrick's quiet voice finally broke it. "Why'd you do it, Pete? Did I...Did I do something?"

"No, no, of course not. You could never..."

Patrick sighed. "Then why?"

Cautiously, Pete laced their fingers together beneath the blanket. "You know why."

A few seconds of silence. Patrick subconsciously squeezed Pete's hand as he spoke, saying, "I know this is going to sound hypocritical coming from me, but you really shouldn't hate yourself."

"And why is that? I hold everyone back and I lie and I'm obnoxious and I act all smart but I'm just not."

"Don't say that," Patrick said, turning on his side and propping himself up on his elbow. "Never talk about yourself like that. Everyone has their flaws, and I know I'm not perfect either, but you don't hold people back. You push them to be their best. You pushed _me_ to be the best version of myself, and you care about everyone so much and the press can go and call you a narcissistic asshole but you're just not. You're my best friend, Pete."

He was quiet for a moment. "You're wrong, you know."

"Pete—"

"You're wrong. You _are_ perfect."

Patrick's adorable laughter filled the room. "I am not."

"Are too." Pete was finally smiling again. He could feel himself returning back to his old self, and he silently thanked whatever deity was out there for bringing this wonderful man into his life. "And that's why you're the—"

"Dean to your Sal?"

Another one of those loaded silences. "Yeah. How did you know I—"

Pete stopped as he watched Patrick dig into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out a twice-crumpled-now-neatly-folded piece of paper. He fiddled with it between his fingers.

"That's my—"

"Note?" Patrick finished, looking at Pete through the hair that had fallen over his eyes. His face was flushed an adorable shade of pink, either as aftermath of crying or the room's heat.

Pete swallowed. "I was supposed to be dead when you read that."

"So it _is_ for me?"

Cracking a nervous half smile, Pete laughed a little. "Yeah, who else?"

"No, it's just...You didn't write another one. Your mom, she looked all over for it. She didn't want to believe that you'd only write a note for...," he frowned, "for me."

"You're the only person I had something important to say to. My mom knows I love her."

Patrick raised an eyebrow. "I know you love me."

"Do you?" Pete's challenging gaze was only met with a frown.

A breeze outside rustled the trees by the window. The muffled sounds of birds chirping could be heard in the distance.

"I love you too, Pete," Patrick said softly.

Pete said nothing else. He just stared at Patrick's gorgeously perfect face. "You know how some people say they love cupcakes or a movie or a song?"

Patrick nodded.

"That's not what I mean when I say I love you."

"I know, me too."

Pete waited a beat. "You're my best friend."

"I know."

Turning on his side, Pete now found his face inches away from Patrick's. "So do you want to know what I'd have said if you had picked up the phone?"

Patrick nodded.

"I had this whole speech planned out, but don't feel bad, okay? You didn't do anything wrong."

He nodded again, more hesitant this time.

Pete took a deep breath. "I probably would have said the whole Dean and Sal thing, you know, since I didn't intend on giving you the note." Patrick frowned and looked away from Pete's eyes. "And probably something along the lines of the only reason I'm still alive is because of you and you're my best friend and I love you to the stars and never back because it'll go on and on forever, and even if I hadn't made it, I'd still love you."

A tear rolled down Patrick's face, and Pete watched it go kind of diagonally across his perfect cheekbones, and then just before it came to his lips it dripped onto the bedsheets. Pete's stare got stuck on that perfect mouth for a little while as Patrick just struggled to find words.

"Pete..." He bit his lip, trying to hold back his sobs. Pete licked his own lips and glanced back up to meet Patrick's eyes. "Pete," he tried again, voice shaking, "don't talk about if you hadn't made it. I don't...I don't want to think about that."

"It was a possibility that—"

" _Stop_ ," Patrick said, flopping onto his back and squeezing his eyes shut. "It was not. I wouldn't have let you die. I would have personally snuck up to Heaven and demanded to have you."

Pete chuckled. "You think I'd go to Heaven?"

"Of course."

"Nah, you'd have to sneak me a wristband for that shit."

Seeming to realize that their fingers were still intertwined, Patrick attempted to let go, but Pete held on tighter.

"Please," he whispered, barely audible.

Tears were still rolling down Patrick's face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You're pretty when you cry."

Patrick wiped the tears away. "I don't want to be."

Pete reached over with his other hand, wincing as the needle moved a little. "You're pretty all the time," he said softly, cupping the side of Patrick's face. He avoided Pete's eyes.

"You know, one of the things I like about you is that even if you knew how pretty you are, you wouldn't care, because that's not what's important to you." Pete gently brushed his thumb from the corner of Patrick's eye down to his perfect cheekbones. "And I like how it's so easy to make you blush, because goddammit you're beautiful when you blush."

Patrick's eyes flicked back to Pete's. "I'm not a fuckin' girl. You don't have to flatter me like this."

Pete grinned. "But you're prettier than one. And I know that you don't want to hear this, but you saved my life on multiple occasions. You're my little angel and I never want you to forget that."

"If I was an angel, why would I be _yours_?"

"Because you'd _want_ to be mine." They stared at each other for a little bit, and Patrick just looked nervous. Pete wanted to kiss him so badly, but he wouldn't. He didn't want to take it that far; he knew Patrick wouldn't forgive him.

But then Patrick was letting go of his hand, and Pete was confused for a second, but suddenly he was pushed back down onto the bed and Patrick was rolling over to face him.

"Patr—"

"Shut the fuck up." And then soft lips were on his. Pete felt tsunamis behind his eyes, he wanted to scream and cry and fucking explode because he was so happy. But he was on a lot of medication, and that made his responses a little weak. He didn't think to kiss back.

Patrick pulled away. He stared at Pete for a moment before sitting up. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I...I shouldn't have done that. Shit, I, I'm..." He scrambled to his feet. "Fuck, I'm sorry, that wasn't supposed to—I'm so sorry."

Pete was overwhelmed. He was still weak and he wasn't expecting that. Sensory overload was kind of fogging up his mind, and his breathing was coming in rapid pants. Fuck, he was so happy. But Patrick was apologizing. Why was he apologizing?

"P-Patrick," he breathed, sitting up and causing the needle to yank out of his arm a little bit. Pete didn't care. He ripped it out and crawled off of the bed, reaching for Patrick and stumbling a little bit.

Surprised, Patrick reached out to steady him. Pete collapsed into his arms, and Patrick shouted for the doctors. "Somebody help, please! Pete, you're gonna' be okay, sit down, come on."

Feeling himself slip from reality, Pete just leaned all his weight on Patrick, reaching up to touch his face. He just wanted to touch him. "Patrick, I..."

He heard the door burst open just before he fell unconscious.  _Again_.

▾▾▾▾▾▾

Pete's dreams were just panicked.

He had regained his sensibility, so now he was only dreaming of Patrick crying, Patrick kissing him, Patrick thinking he didn't want him. But he was out like a shattered lightbulb; he couldn't do anything about it.

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you," he whispered against Patrick's jawline. Were you supposed to have wet dreams when you fainted? Pete neither knew nor cared, as he was unaware that this was no longer reality.

Patrick groaned and pulled him back into a heated kiss, and Pete held him closer. He didn't know where they were, they were probably just nowhere. All he knew was a gorgeous expanse of skin and a hot mouth and the prettiest eyes he'd ever had the pleasure of staring into.

"I love you," Patrick said through the labored breaths. "I love..."

His voice faded out as Pete's eyes flew open.

He was in a different room this time. No other patients were in there, but he noticed a camera in the corner. The walls were white and blank, no cute children's drawings or motel paintings to decorate them. There was an absence of furniture besides his bed, and the only other things in the room were the machines and a metal door on the opposite side of the room.

"Is this more than you bargained for yet?" a soft voice hummed beside him. Pete squeezed his eyes shut and just listened, hoping Patrick didn't see he was awake. As he began to regain his senses, he finally felt the warmth of the body next to him. They weren't touching, but Pete could feel his presence under the blankets.

"Oh, don't mind me, I'm watching you two from the closet." He was singing quietly and in a lower key than the actual song, and Pete wondered why it was suddenly quite enticing. Patrick's low voice was the only other sound in the room, aside from the beeping that was keeping the beat.

"Wishing to be the friction in his jeans." Pete's heart fluttered. The original, unedited lyrics. He remembered the conversation he and Patrick had about that line. The label was getting all pissy, and Patrick didn't want to sing it. They're still in the middle of that debate, as they haven't even released the record yet, but it seems that Patrick is finally leaning to Pete's side.

Pete slowly moved his hand to hook their fingers together, and Patrick's breathing hitched as Pete pressed their palms against each other. "Patrick?"

"You're awake," he said quietly.

"Where are we? Where is everyone?"

Patrick sniffed. "They moved you. They said you were a danger to yourself, so you had to be placed in 'special conditions.' And everyone else went home."

Pete gulped. "Why?"

"The doctors said you would be overwhelmed with more than one person around. Dale...She told me that you'd want it to be me."

Thoughts of soft pink lips rushed through his mind, and Pete suddenly remembered the whole reason he had been sent into sensory overload.

"'Trick?"

"Hm?"

Pete opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Patrick. "What happened before I passed out?"

Shrugging, Patrick just pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You pulled out the needle and your meds stopped flowing."

Pete turned completely on his side, glad that the needle in his arm was now firmly secured to his skin. "Why'd I do that?"

"I think you were just overwhelmed." A bead of sweat rolled down Patrick's temple, and Pete watched it follow his jawline.

"Why?" Pete asked, reaching up and gently brushing a thumb over Patrick's cheekbone.

Patrick's breathing quickened. "I don't know."

Pete dragged his thumb lower, watching his skin glide across Patrick's now red-flushed cheek. "Patrick. Please tell me that what I remember wasn't some crazy fever dream."

"Wh-What do you remember?"

He was just staring at Patrick's spit-slick mouth, brushing over the full lower lip with his thumb, pulling it so his lips would part a bit. "I remember you apologizing. And...is there any reason that your mouth tasted like cherries or was that just me?"

Patrick gulped, not meeting Pete's eyes. "I-I don't know what you mean."

Pete didn't answer, instead he just laughed and dropped his hand to rest on Patrick's chest. "I'm sorry, you know," he said, pressing his face between Patrick's neck and shoulder. "This whole thing is so stupid. I shouldn't have tried to...," he whispered against Patrick's porcelain skin.

"Never apologize for this. Ever."

Nuzzling closer to him, Pete just said, "Do you mean it when you say you love me? Like, I mean it. I'd take a bullet for you. I'd tell you everything I love about you every day if I could condense it into a twenty-four hour period, but I just can't. You're so fucking perfect yet you hang out with a loser like me and I don't know what I ever could have done to deserve you because you're way too good for me and—"

"Oh my god, you are _such_ a liar." But Pete didn't have enough time to react properly, because those perfectly plush pink lips were blocking his words' path.

Pete didn't really know what had happened. It seemed that they had both leaned in at the same time, but he supposed it didn't really matter because he was finally able to kiss back and express his contentment with a little moan against Patrick's lips. This earned a small smile from the younger man, and Pete pulled away for a second just to look at him. His face was pink and his lips were rubbed scarlet red, and his eyelashes fluttered as he stared at Pete with nothing but awe.

"I better not be in a coma."

Patrick laughed. "If you're in a coma, then I guess so am I."

"Or maybe I'm dead and this is Heaven."

Giggling timidly, Patrick shook his head. "Stop trying to flatter me."

Pete brought their lips together again, pulling Patrick on top of him. The strawberry blond made a noise of surprise as he ended up straddling Pete's hips, palms splayed flat on his chest. He held the sides of Patrick's face, hungrily attacking his lips. "You deserve it."

Patrick kissed him again and just as quickly moved away. "I didn't do anything."

Pete pulled him back down for a few moments before saying, "You saved my life," through panted breaths.

"Yeah, I guess that _is_ pretty awesome."

Grinning, Pete just kissed him again. His hands were now trailing down Patrick's chest and around to his hips, thumbs finding the hem of his shirt. One hand made its way under Patrick's shirt and he squeaked in surprise.

Patrick grabbed his wrist, stopping Pete from going any farther. "Camera," he breathed against Pete's lips.

He glared up at the camera in the corner of the room. "Shit."

"I do mean it when I say I love you, Pete," Patrick whispered into his ear. "We can some other time."

"Is that a promise?" Pete asked, raising an eyebrow.

Patrick sat up and smiled sheepishly, nodding as he rolled off of Pete. "I don't want to subject the staff to whatever may take place here."

Pete sighed. "Well, it's good to know that you mean it, 'cause I'm not fucking around." He sat up. "I don't want you to think of me as someone that just messes around, right? I'm good at getting serious."

Snorting, Patrick just rolled over to face away from him. "You suck at being serious, but I'll believe the other stuff."

Pete curled up behind him, hooking his chin over Patrick's shoulder. "I'm serious about you, so this'll be like my way of showing you that I totally can be."

"Yeah, whatever. A doctor or somebody should come in when visiting hours are over. Wake me up then." Patrick closed his eyes and set his glasses on the floor. Pete just rolled his eyes and wrapped Patrick in a tight hug, pressing a final little kiss to his cheek and eventually falling asleep with a needle and an angel in his arms.

He had decided right then and there to never put himself and the people he loved through that ever again.

Pete was finally going to live.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed <3
> 
> Peep my Tumblr: sophie-m-leo


End file.
